


A Stars Hollow Nightmare

by thesecondComingofGod



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: 9/11, American Politics, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Character Development, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Economics, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Male Character, LGBTQ Themes, Minor Character Death, Moral Lessons, Multi, Mystery, No more romanticizing small towns, Politics, Racism, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Social Commentary, Social Issues, THE PARIS & JESS & RORY TRIO WE ALL DESERVED, Taylor Doose Hate Squad, Teen Angst, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondComingofGod/pseuds/thesecondComingofGod
Summary: When Paris Geller and Rory Gilmore team up to do an exposé on Stars Hollow for an inter-school newspaper competition, Rory doesn't expect anything to come out of it. But secret town plots and sinister figures in power leave the girls with much more information than they bargained for.
Relationships: Dean Forester/Rory Gilmore, Emily Gilmore & Lorelai Gilmore, Emily Gilmore & Rory Gilmore, Emily Gilmore/Richard Gilmore, Jess Mariano & Original Female Character(s), Lorelai Gilmore & Richard Gilmore, Lorelai Gilmore & Rory Gilmore, Lorelai Gilmore/Sookie St. James, Luke Danes & Jess Mariano, Luke Danes & Lorelai Gilmore, Luke Danes & Rory Gilmore, Paris Geller & Jess Mariano, Paris Geller & Original Character(s), Paris Geller & Rory Gilmore, Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore, Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano, Richard Gilmore & Rory Gilmore, Rory Gilmore & Jess Mariano, Rory Gilmore & Lane Kim, Rory Gilmore & Original Character(s), Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano
Comments: 41
Kudos: 44





	1. The Mask Gets Pulled Off

Looking back, when Paris told me that the Franklin, our school’s newspaper, was  _ her  _ domain, I really should have listened to her. Ironically, she was the only reason I actually had a big drive to join - Paris was the one who alerted me about the Franklin's existence in the first place, and made my life such a living hell that I joined as retaliation. 

  
  


But what is done is done, and now, after a bunch of drama and nuisance, I find myself wedged against the window of a bus to Stars Hollow, with Paris yammering at my side.

  
  


“Cut the doe-eyed puppy dog crap Gilmore, you’ve given me nothing,  _ nothing,  _ about the downsides to Stars Hollow that we can use to win the competition! Small towns are breeding grounds for drugs, unprotected sex, and early marriage; any decent reporter would be aware of her surroundings, y’know.”

  
  


“Unprotected  _ sex?  _ That’s the big article you think will put us on top, Paris, unprotected sex is small towns? I’m sure Mrs. O’Malley would be thrilled to hear it.”

  
  


“Think outside the box for one second, Rory. We’re living in the George Bush era of journalism - scandal is what gets you over the top. If we can expose a seedy underbelly to a nice, charming,  _ Christian _ little town like Stars Hollow, we could connect it to the current state of American society like  _ real journalists.  _ It’s a guaranteed win.” A middle aged lady in the seat across from us turns to give Paris a withering stare, but she doesn’t pay attention.

  
  


Feeling embarrassed, I tell her to pipe down. “Look, I’ll give you a tour of the town and we’ll see what we can find, as long as you  _ don’t humiliate me,”  _ I hiss. “These people are my friends, and besides, you won’t get a good interview here if you’re not friendly.”

  
  


“Well that’s what you’re here for, princess. You get people to listen to me, and then I’ll interrogate them until they spill.”

  
  


Surprisingly enough, this is what a pleasant interaction with Paris Geller looks like. It’s only been a few weeks since she stopped actively working against me and started to take my help on articles for the paper. Valuing my advice on schoolwork, too. Sometimes I even find myself looking forward to following her around for a story. “Fine, but don’t be surprised when we don’t uncover anything.”

  
  


The bus finally stops at our town, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Stars Hollow is the one place I can actually be myself, and not constantly on guard like I am at Chilton. Despite the recent breakthrough in mine and Paris’s volatile relationship, I still have to deal with Tristan’s biblical virgin-shaming, snooty kids, and pushy teachers. Here, at least, I have a modicum of control over Paris’s goings and comings.

  
  


“Jeez, you’d think a bus that goes to and from Hartford twice a day could scrounge up a decent cleaning crew. I got  _ dust  _ up my skirt every time you went over a speed bump.”

  
  


Well, somewhat, anyway. I make an apologetic face at the bus driver as I scramble out of the vehicle, grabbing Paris’s shoulder when I catch up to her.  _ “What  _ did I say about you insulting people?”

  
  


“Calm down, bambi, I’ll be nice when we talk to your little friends.” She takes in the town square, staring in disgust at the kids in Miss Patty’s School of Ballet. “Perfect at first glance, like you said. But don’t worry. It’ll make it all the more satisfying when we get our big lead.” 

  
  


“Where do you want to go first?”

  
  


She firmly seizes the handle of my backpack and pushes me in front of her as she walks. “The diner, where else?”

  
  


“Ouch, Paris!”

  
  


I get shoved into Luke’s, the bell ringing as I promptly crash into the front door. Paris sidesteps past me, rolling her eyes and taking a bar stool at the counter. Luke’s Diner is probably the only reason my mom and I are able to feed ourselves, and we’re good friends with the owner after which it is named. I don’t exactly need Paris attacking him, or being weird with his nephew Jess, who I can barely get to talk to people with multiple syllables as is.

  
  


After taking a nice pause to sigh dramatically at the sight of her eyeing the diner walls suspiciously, I follow Paris to the counter, grunting my disapproval. Jess isn’t here yet, but Luke smiles when he sees me.

  
  


“Oh, hey Rory! I wasn’t expecting you today - your mom told me you were doing something for your school paper.”

  
  


“Yeah, actually, that’s why we’re here. Meet my friend, Hildy Johnson.”

  
  


“Nice to meet you, Hildy,” he tells her amicably. Luke is good about going along with my bits, even if he doesn’t usually understand the references. 

  
  


I down the cup of coffee he pours me, grateful for the energy burst. He asks Paris if she wants one on the house, which she rejects politely. “No thanks. I’m naturally very energetic, so unless you want your day to be ruined, you should keep it as far away from me as you can.” 

  
  


Silence.

  
  


“That was a joke, you can laugh.”

  
  


Luke forces out an awkward chuckle for her benefit, and then mumbles an excuse about checking on his sous chef, Caesar. I pat Paris on the shoulder, trying to convey that I appreciate her effort. I also smooth my hair and keep an eye out for Jess, who I look forward to seeing come down the stairs from Luke’s apartment to the diner.

  
  


“What are you staring off in the distance for, Gilmore, it’s making me-”

  
  


I hear the sound of footsteps, and Jess appears at the back entryway to the diner, glued to a book in hand. I tug on his sleeve as he bumbles past me, causing him to jump in surprise.

  
  


“Oh, sorry!” I giggle. “Jess, meet my friend, Paris Geller.”

  
  


He gives her a one over. “Hello.”

  
  


I don’t expect much to come out of this conversation, but Paris has a mind of her own. “What are you reading there?” She asks, propping elbows on the counter and leaning over. “Giovanni’s Room? Huh.”

  
  


“You heard?”

  
  


“I mean, I’ve read some of James Baldwin’s other books, but….”

  
  


Jess looks amused, like he knows exactly what Paris is going to say next. He’s very intelligent like that. “But….this one’s too gay?”

  
  


“I didn’t  _ say  _ that,” Paris demanded.

  
  


“Aw no, don’t worry,” Jess says chuckling, “I only read it so I can get sexually confused.”

  
  


His retort is dripping with sarcasm, and I’m just about afraid that Jess and Paris are going to have a go at each other, when she laughs back. “I would read the book if I could get my hands on a copy. Chilton doesn’t keep those kinds of stories in the school library, and my parents won’t get me a public library card.”

  
  


“You can borrow it when I’m done, if you want. I’ll pass it to you through Rory.”

  
  


“Really?” Paris exclaims. “Um, jeez, thanks, I’d love to!” She turns to look at me. “Your friend is pretty cool.”

  
  


Well, that’s a first. Maybe Paris and Jess are both so insufferable that it somehow cancels out and makes them friendly towards each other. “I mean, if you say so.” I punch Jess lightly on the arm, grinning.

  
  


“Yeah, yeah, let me get out of here before you start bursting into song.” Seemingly harsh words, but they come off as shy rather than malicious. Paris waves to him as he heads out the diner.

  
  


“Ok,” she turns to me, taking out her notepad, “I’ve done my polite schtick. Now, let’s get down to the real business. Is Jess Luke’s son, and if so, where’s his mother? He doesn’t look like your typical small town freak child. Does he sell drugs?”

  
  


This line of questioning is unnerving. “Paris, Jess is not a drug dealer. He’s Luke’s nephew - his mother sent him over here to...I don’t know, sort him into shape.”

  
“She wasn’t able to take care of him, eh? Maybe _she’s_ the druggie.”

  
  


A rebuttal makes its way to my lips, but then I realize there’s actually a pretty good chance Paris is right on that one. I say nothing, my lack of response causing her to be vindicated.

  
  


“How old is Jess’s mom?”

  
  


Now I know exactly what Paris is trying to insinuate. “A little younger than Luke, I guess. If what you’re really trying to ask is whether she was a teenage mom, then  _ yes,  _ she had Jess young. Father’s out of the picture.”

  
  


“Aha!” She jabs her finger at my face. “You have a teen mom and single parent, and so does Jess! Told you small towns have an unprotected sex problem.”

  
  


“What a nice thing to refer to me as,” I reply blithely. 

  
  


“Finish that cup of coffee, Rory, we have work to do.”

  
  


* * *

“It’s not enough. I can’t  _ believe  _ it’s not enough, I was so sure.”

Paris and I walk aimlessly around the square, sharing a pack of licorice. Her former spark has dissolved into miserable dejection, as interview after interview led to no breakthroughs about the secret evils of small town life. Everyone was nice to her; every establishment squeaky clean. Sure, people in Stars Hollow marry young and are sometimes conservative, but it’s nothing that hasn’t already been written about a hundred times before.

  
  


“Paris, I really am sorry. I told you there was nothing more to it.”

  
  


“Yeah, well,” she bemoans, “I didn’t believe you.”

  
  


It’s 6:00 and the sun has already set, the town gazebo lights bright and the breeze mild. Unlike Paris, I’m perfectly content with things as they are. A part of me was disquieted from the start by the idea that there might be something wrong with the place mom and I call home.

  
  


“Rory, Rory Gilmore! Excuse me, Rory?”

  
  


Paris and I turn to see Taylor Doose, the mayor of Star Hollow, shuffling towards us at frightening speed. He walks in a way that indicates unchecked scoliosis. “If it isn’t the girl of the hour!”

  
  


Paris gives me a quizzical look, to which I just shrug. “That’s quite a title Taylor, what have I done to earn it?” I say it with a bit of a sneer, but thankfully he doesn’t catch on.

  
  


“You, young lady, have proven to be a beacon of hope in a world in which children with loose morals dominate the popular culture! A nice, proper girl like you is one of the rarest things to see today. We must make sure that doesn’t change with that...  _ boyfriend  _ of yours.”

  
  


“Loose morals, you say?” Paris eyes me suggestively. 

  
  


Taylor looks almost giddy with happiness. “Not hers, no, Rory’s morals are as  _ pure _ as the driven snow. Follow me, girls, I’ll show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

  
  


We trail Taylor as he makes his way over to Stars Hollow video, the store mom and I rent from for our movie nights. Kirk is standing at the entrance, and he applauds when he sees me.

  
  


“We took your advice, Rory, and let me be the first to say that thanks to your courage, we will never have a problem with the children again.”

  
  


“What children, Kirk, what  _ problem?”  _ I ask exasperatedly. Taylor and Kirk are always wasting my time with nonsense, and usually I’m happy to oblige them, but a day of journalism with Paris drains one’s energy.

  
  


“Introducing to you, the Rory Curtain!” Kirk gestures inside the store, where a red curtain has been installed with a picture of my face on it.

  
  


He and Taylor look at me with pride, but I am gawking at the sight with horror. “W-h-  _ Rory Curtain?”  _ I whip my neck around to survey the rest of the store, and the shelves are almost desolate. “Kirk, what have you done?”

  
  


“When you alerted me that those kids were looking at some of the more adult films in this establishment, I knew something had to be done. So, I alerted Taylor, who installed a curtain which only adults will be permitted to go behind. Every single improper film has been safely stacked away from the prying eyes of Star Hollow’s willy nilly kids.”

  
  


Paris ducks behind the curtain, then turns to me with disbelief. “Rory, they even put  _ Harry Potter  _ behind there.”

  
  


“No, I- Kirk, that’s not what I meant! You should’ve just put the movie on a higher shelf! And I was talking about rated R films, not anything and everything that's  _ mildly _ controversial.”

  
  


“Oh, Rory, don’t you see this is so much better?” Taylor pleads. “We will not stand for the brainwashing of innocent children. Your suggestion ensures that only the most squeaky clean  _ pious  _ and  _ sensible  _ material will be out in the public for children to view. Quite frankly, it’s a relief to us all.”

  
  


At this point I’m not even paying attention to him, because I see the wheels turning in Paris’s brain.  _ Oh no.  _ “Gilmore, you beautiful bastard, you’ve saved us all!” She launches at me, wrapping her arms around my neck into a choking hug that ends as quickly as it starts. “This is our big story - censorship and religion in a small town! We are going to blow all those other prissy school newspapers out of the water with this. Mr. Taylor Doose, tell me….”

  
  


I shake my head disbelievingly, trying to make sense of what just happened. There is nothing in the world that would prevent Paris from doing this story on Stars Hollow, now that she actually has sufficient evidence to do so. And as I’ve already begun to notice, I seem incapable of refusing to follow right behind her.

  
  


This is going to get messy.


	2. A Stand In Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Stars Hollow prepares for upcoming festivities, Rory's investigation into town leadership unwittingly reveals a surprising lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on releasing this chapter by Sunday, but I put off writing because....laziness. Sorry about that. Anyway, a clarification:
> 
> Uncurious George was a negative nickname for President George W Bush, meant to demean his "monkey-like" face and bigotry towards differing facts/opinons. His presidency took place during the Gilmore Girls timeline, and all mentions of him in this fanfic are reflective of my views and my views only.
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, uh, _Mother. Father._ Would you like to hear about Rory and her friend’s fun little school project?”

  
  


I shoot daggers at Mom with my eyes, to which she wiggles her eyebrows. I suppose it’s what I deserve, anyway, for not jumping in while mom got interrogated about her love life by Grandma and Grandpa. Friday night dinners with the grandparents usually circle back to romance somehow. This time, mom was talking about preparations for an annual Stars Hollow lovers’ picnic ritual coming up, causing grandma to not-so-subtly mention that she knows a man around mom’s age who would make a “darling” partner. Mom can’t get too mad though, considering how well both Grandma and Grandpa reacted to her breaking up with Max the night before their wedding. So she resorts to focusing the attention on me.

  
  


Grandpa perks up at the mention of a project. “Oh, yes, Rory, the regional schools’ newspaper competition! Headmaster Charleston told me all about it. I assured him that you and that girl Paris would write an _excellent_ front page.” 

  
  


“I really hope so. Paris will have a meltdown if we don’t win.”

  
  


“That won’t be a problem, because _Gilmores. Don’t. Lose,”_ He thrusts his finger at me with each sentence, for emphasis. “Fine journalism runs in this family’s blood like the hemophilia gene in Queen Victoria’s. I myself, of course, am a businessman. But, when I was younger, I wrote quite a bit for the _Yale Daily News.”_

  
  


“I- hemophilia?” Mom has a horrified look on her face. “That’s the best comparison you could think of, journalism and hemophilia?”

  
  


“Lorelai the First did marry her third cousin,” I say, cackling. Lorelai the First is Grandpa’s mother, after whom my mother is named. I assume our bloodline carries all sorts of disease as well, if our ancestors had incestuous relations like the British royals.

  
  


“Rory, that is your _great grandma_ you’re talking about,” Grandpa lectures, but my grandma is covering a smirk under her hands. Her mother-in-law is constantly at her throat. “And what I simply meant is that good journalism is very common in our family. Not everyone should be so lucky.”

  
  


Mom snorts. “Yeah, yeah, God forbid their grandparents were step-siblings instead.”

  
  


I duck my head, fully overcome by racks of laughter. With all the craziness that’s been going on, for some reason it’s the image of a young Lorelai the First being match-made with her husband-to-be Charles at a family reunion that sets me off my rocker.

  
  


“Alright girls, very funny, I know. But let’s get back to the subject at hand - what are Rory and Paris writing this big story on? Should I expect to be scandalized?” Grandma gracefully steers the conversation into a more proper direction, and I’m thankful because Grandpa’s face has begun to sport an outraged blush.

  
  


“It’s not a big deal, really. We’re writing an article on censorship in Stars Hollow. I can’t get into the details of the thing right now, but I promise you’ll be the first to know when we print the piece.”

  
  


Grandma smiles. “I’m sure whatever you’re writing will be _excellent,_ Rory. I heard finishing in the top three for the state competition means you qualify for Nationals, and the winners of _that_ get to go to the White House. Imagine getting to talk to our President about the issues you care about! We’ll all be proud.”

  
  


“Well, if that’s the prize she gets, then I’d rather not have Rory win.” Mom stabs her food viciously. “Uncurious George over there in the White House would probably put the girls on an FBI watchlist the moment they opened their mouths. Try asking him about those dead Iraqis, hm?”

  
  


“Lorelai, eat your peas,” Grandma scowls.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“The audacity, the _nerve._ How _dare_ she?! That blonde bimbo...”

  
  


My friend Lane rants to me as we walk to Doose’s, the local supermarket where my boyfriend Dean works. I haven’t been able to see Lane too much ever since I transferred from Stars Hollow High to Chilton. Every moment we have together these days is nice; even when she’s complaining about a girl I don’t know.

  
  


“Lane, I don’t think we should call our fellow womankind bimbos. Gloria Steinheim would be quite disappointed in you.”

  
  


“Gloria Steinheim shouldn’t be focusing on me, she should be focusing on this chick who is _clearly_ going after my man! I mean, what does she have, an Asian fetish or something?” We’re talking about Henry, a boy who goes to Chilton with me that Lane met at Paris’s friend Madeline’s party. They’re supposed to have their first date at the Bid On A Basket festival coming up. “I was standing right there, obviously getting to know Henry, and she flirts with him right in front of me? _The disrespect!”_

  
  


Lost in her frustrations, she nearly walks into a letterbox right in front of us, forcing me to grab Lane’s hand and steer her down the block. “I don’t believe she has a _fetish_ ,” I assure her, “and you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. There’s a good chance she thought you two were just friends, you know.”

  
  


“I guess you’re right.”

  
  


“Of course I’m right. Now, let’s talk about your-”

  
  


“It’s _just that,”_ she interjects, and I know Lane’s not planning on changing the subject anytime soon. “She literally seems like the type of girl to go after another girl’s boyfriend. She works at one of the little beauty shops further downtown, and I heard her gossiping about how much her friend’s singing group sucked. She called them a _crapella._ A _crap_ ella? You’d think a fancy school like Chilton would teach the woman to come up with a less juvenile insult. You can’t make up words like that!”

  
  


I snort. “Okay, but you gotta admit, that one’s actually kind of funny. Besides, using words in ‘improper’ ways or mashing them together is actually how language evolves - it’s not like we go around speaking Middle English.”

  
  


“Here ye, here ye,” Lane grumbles, but I can tell I’ve finally gotten through to her. We cross the street over to Doose’s, and I can see Dean bagging stuff through the window. Taylor is there too, which almost instantly puts me in a bad mood. Jess alluded to having had corrupted some of the movies that were behind the Rory Curtain though, so hopefully the video place should be back to normal.

  
  


Dean’s clocking off as I enter the establishment, his floppy hair bouncing over his eyes while he hangs up his apron. After promising to meet up with Lane when she finishes shopping, I make a beeline for him, careful to avoid eye contact with Taylor.

  
  


“Boo.”

  
  


“Hello to you too,” he says, laughing. We kiss for a few minutes, but it feels so different from before. Not that kissing isn’t fun, but my interactions with Dean nowadays are more working through the motions than exciting. I guess that’s what you get for having a long-term relationship, but he’s still one of my favorite people. I think.

  
  


“So, you will be bidding on my basket for the ceremony, right? I’ve been putting exceptional effort into planning, and searching up recipes, and…”

  
  


“Rory, I know you. All that’s gonna be in that basket are two stale Pop Tarts and a Slim Jim.” Dean wraps his arm around me and leans against the checkout counter. “But yes, I _will_ be bidding on yours.”

  
  


“You’re truly the superior boyfriend,” I reply. We kiss again, only to be interrupted by a loud _clang_ from the other side of the store and a wail from Taylor.

  
  


Dean heads towards the sound and I hesitate, but eventually follow. We locate him crouching behind the canned foods aisle near the back of the shop, head in hands. A desk and attached chair lay tipped sideways over.

  
  


“Taylor, are you alright?” I ask. He’s such a miserable sight that it almost makes me want to ask Paris to detract some of the crueler statements she made about his leadership in our article. 

  
  


“I’m _fine,_ just fell off my chair. Not good for the back when you’re my age,” he says, clearly lying. Dean lends him a hand and pulls him into a standing position, while I push the desk back up and gather some of the miscellaneous items strewn across the floor near it. My eye catches on a segment of ripped newspaper, with a picture of a smiling middle-aged woman and a caption below it:

  
  


𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝘼𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝘿𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙨, 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙨 “𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩”.

  
  


Quickly, before anyone notices, I stash the newspaper clipping into my pocket, my heartbeat quickening. A challenger for mayor? I hadn’t even known people wanted to go up against Taylor - sure he’s grumpy and a nag, but he takes care of all the things no one else wants to worry about.

  
  


“Be careful next time, ok?” I hear Dean chastise him, and I snap back to reality.

  
  


“Yeah, Taylor, we have a town meeting coming up this Sunday, and it would be pretty boring if you weren’t there.”

  
  


“Oh, I’ll be fine,” He waves us away, sliding back into the seat. “Go, have fun. I’ll have your paycheck by Friday, Dean.”

  
  


I link my arm around his and pull him away, back to the storefront with urgency. He’s shaking his head with laughter, perpetually amused by Taylor’s antics. “Man, isn’t he crazy?”

  
  


“I just remembered that I have something really urgent to show Paris for school,” I say to Dean, distracted by my recent discovery. We haven’t put the finishing touches on our Star Hollow censorship article, and this would be a perfect ending to squeeze in there. But at the same time, I just want an excuse to get away.

  
  


He clenches his jaw, and I can already predict this turning into a fight. “We- I thought we were going to go out for ice cream, or something, today.”

  
  


“We can _totally_ go later,” I plead with him. “I’m just really pressed for time with this article, let me quickly-”

  
  


Dean throws his hands up. “Fine. Go write your article. I don’t want to argue.”

  
  


There is silence between us, and I find myself staring at the ground to avoid looking at him. Somehow, I always manage to mess things up with him like I do everything else. Dean does everything for me, and all he asks for in return is for us to spend more time together, but I can’t even do that for him. “Dean…”

  
  


“It’s fine, Rory, I’m not mad.”

  
  


I hug him. “I’ll call you ASAP. Trust me, right after I finish, the whole night will be for you.”

  
  


He kisses me, and I just about sprint out of the store, running almost half a block before I realize that I forgot Lane.

  
  


* * *

After dropping Lane off at her house, I find Jess sitting on a park bench next to the town gazebo. I stalk towards him, unceremoniously snatching the cigarette perched between his lips and chucking it into the trash.

  
  


_“Dude!”_ He yelps, fixing me with an annoyed stare.

  
  


“Scoot over, mister.”

  
  


Jess obliges, and we sit in a comfortable silence for some time. It’s the one thing I like about him better than anything else - even though he’s annoying and full of attitude, he’s one of the few people I know who doesn’t feel the need to speak all the time. Talking to Jess isn’t tiring in the least. _“So,_ how’s your and Paris’s article going? Did you uncover the shady side of Stars Hollow?”

  
  


“Yeah, actually,” I tell him. “The censorship stuff, remember? We wrote about the Rory Certain.”

  
  


“Ah, _yes_ , you’re a poster girl for fascism now,” he drawls. “I was waiting to tell you, by the way, that I fixed that for you. The surprise scene at the beginning of the Dumbo movie apparently stirred some heads.”

  
  


“I still want to know exactly how you corrupted their footage,” I reply, chuckling.

  
  


“And give away my secrets? All you have to know is that I came to your rescue.”

  
  


I shake my head at him. “I guess I’m forever in your debt.”

  
  


We fall silent again. I twiddle with the bracelet Dean made for me, before pulling the newspaper clipping I stole from Taylor out of my pocket. “Jess, look at this.”

  
  


He stares at it, biting his lower lip. “Didn’t know good ol’ Taylor had competition.”

  
  


“Do you want to go visit Akers sometime with me?” I blurt out, before common sense can stop me. “Or, no, with me and Paris. But that’s only if we make it to the next stage of this contest we’re doing for school.” I sigh. “We’re going to have to investigate the problems in town more if we qualify for the final rounds, and you’re very smart, so I thought if you wanted to ask her questions with us…”

  
  


“Okay,” Jess agrees.

  
  


“Okay?”

  
  


“Okay. It’ll be fun. And it’s not _if_ you win, it’s _when_ you win.”

  
  


I feel a shit-eating grin spread across my face. “Thanks. I have to go talk to Paris right now actually, so I’ll see you later.” 

  
  


“Bye, Rory.”

  
  


I wave to him and stroll back home, eager to share the news. Mom has left a note on the fridge saying she’ll be at Sookie’s house until later, and that there are leftovers in the fridge for me to eat. I grab the house phone and dial Paris’s number, spamming her answering machine until she finally picks up.

  
  


“Gilmore, I swear to God this better be good.”

  
  


“I’m surprised it took you so long to answer, Paris, what with the fact that you have no life,” I snark.

  
  


The sound of muffled shouts come from my phone, and I’m wondering if I could’ve just waited until school to talk to her, before she answers. “Ouch, guess you’re not all puppies and rainbow farts, then.”

  
  


“I called to say that I have some news we might be able to incorporate into our article.” Paris doesn’t immediately berate me, and I take this as a sign of encouragement. “It could also lead to something big for our follow up if we make it past the first round of the competition.”

  
  


“Stop babbling and cut to the chase.”

  
  


I roll my eyes. “Fine. Taylor has a challenger for the position of town mayor this year, some lady named Margaret Akers. I found a ripped piece of newspaper from his possession which basically said she didn’t think he was good at his job. Not many people know about this, and I think it could be a neat end to tie our censorship piece together.”

  
  


“Like a rhetorical question about his future?” She asks, and I can hear her jotting the information down.

  
  


“Pretty much.”

  
  


“Well,” Paris says, “if this isn’t investigative gold, I don’t know what is. Be ready to proof-read the final draft at school tomorrow.” She hangs up the phone, and I clutch it to my chest as I fall into bed. 

  
  


I know, in a moment, I will pick up the phone to invite Dean over so we can watch our favorite movies. He’ll bring us little pints of ice cream and let me take some of his, like the Prince Charming he was born to be. Despite this, it’s the prospect of meeting up with Paris and Jess to visit an intriguing politician that I can’t help but look forward to.


	3. Nothing Is As It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris, Rory, and Jess have a visit with the intriguing Margaret Akers, inspiring Jess to commit a reckless act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize for the delay. I need ya'll to harass me into getting these chapters out :D
> 
> This is where the story starts to take a more dark and mysterious turn, as most of you probably predicted, but what you might not have expected is it beginning to get somewhat political as well. The 2000's were a time of much turmoil, and this timeline - in canon and my fic - is set only a year after 9/11. 
> 
> There will still be plenty of classic GG banter and relationship exploration, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

I’m standing outside in the sweltering heat, sweat piling on my nose and sticking to my Chilton uniform. For some reason we’re having a heatwave in the middle of fall, leaving me to suffer the consequences as I stand outside the gates of Paris’s mansion.

  
  


It looms large, even amidst all the grand architecture on display in her neighborhood. I had never realized before private school that my grandparents’ house could pale in comparison to some people’s. Mom and I would sometimes drive around in these types of neighborhoods when I was younger - she’d make snide comments about their pimply children and fat dogs, but the wistfulness in her voice was hard to miss. I wonder what it would be like to never have to pick up a spare job on top of my schoolwork, to be able to go shopping whenever I pleased. No dwelling on what could’ve been though, I suppose.

  
  


Paris storms down the driveway. It’s startling, seeing her in anything but a plaid skirt and blazer, but the outfit she’s changed into really suits her. She’s wearing a sparkly crop top that leaves a small strip of her midriff exposed, and flowy shorts. I guess I should be annoyed that she left me to wait so long so she can change, but it takes too much energy to be angry at Paris.

  
  


“You look nice,” I comment.

  
  


“My mom made me change. Nevermind the fact that I’m going to talk to a fascinating  _ politician,  _ no, it’s all ‘my daughter needs to look perfect in case she accidentally stumbles into a Teen Vogue photoshoot.’”

  
  


“She’s very considerate that way.” Paris smiles shyly at my remark, and something stirs in my stomach. “Did you bring your notepad?”

  
  


She nods and fishes it out of her pockets with a flourish. “My notepad, and a tape recorder. I’ll be damned if we forget to put anything on the record. Let’s take the Porsche.”

  
  


I usually ride the bus home after school, but I had to make a pit stop at Paris’s house today so she could gather her materials for the interview with Margaret Akers. Mom and I received a letter in the mail a week ago, from the heads of the newspaper competition Paris and I had submitted our censorship article for. Our hard work had paid off, and it told us that we had advanced into the national rounds. Now, we have a few months to expand on our original story, so hopefully this Akers character offers some real dirt.

  
  


I force Paris to let me drive, considering that she’s an absolute nightmare with speeding. I assume she’s going to yammer on about what questions to ask for our interview, or spit out intel on Margaret Akers. Instead, she’s quiet. For a few minutes, it’s just the sound of music and rolled-down windows letting in the wind. I watch Paris’s hair whip around her face in my peripheral vision.

  
  


“So, Jess, huh?” She breaks the silence.

  
  


I sigh. It was good while it lasted. “What about him?”

  
  


“Do you have a crush on him?” Paris’s arms are crossed and her face is pouty. “I mean, I know he’s smart, but the two of us would’ve worked just fine-”

  
  


“Paris, stop. I only invited him to work with us because you like him and he’s a Stars Hollow local. He gets the town like me.” She rolls her eyes at me and stares out the window.

  
  


I wait for her to retaliate, but she doesn’t say anything. “You  _ agreed  _ that it was a good idea to have an extra pair of brain cells to work on this.”

  
  


Paris laughs, a surprisingly deep sound. “Only two extra brain cells?”

  
  


“Any more would be stealing our thunder.”

  
  


She shakes her head. “I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything. If you like Jess, you can tell me, you know. We’re girls, we’re supposed to talk about this sort of thing.”

  
  


“Jess is my friend, but  _ Dean  _ is my boyfriend. Besides, he’s just too much excitement. We have an annual Autumn picnic festival, where boys bid on girls’ baskets and the highest bidder gets to share a meal with the girl. It’s definitely sexist, but it’s a tradition with me and Dean. Anyways, we had it a few days ago and Jess totally butted in and outbid Dean, who doesn’t have a lot of money, just to mess with him! Who does that?” I feel the need to prove to Paris that I’m not a woman of questionable morals.

  
  


“Never mind then. I guess  _ Jess  _ likes  _ you.”  _ Paris twiddles with her thumbs. “And Dean doesn’t deserve you.”

  
  


That’s a first. Nobody’s ever viewed him as anything but a perfect Prince Charming. “You don’t even know him. And Jess just likes screwing with people.”

  
  


“Right, convince yourself that,” she snarks.

  
  


“I will.”

  
  


“Okay.”

  
  


We fall silent once again, but Paris has managed to send me into a spiral of negative thoughts. “Maybe you’re right. Except it’s me who doesn’t deserve Dean. Him, my mom, my grandparents, everyone in my life has ten times better of a personality than me. I’m the worst.”

  
  


Her eyes bore into mine. “No, you’re the best. You’re the only person who can stand to listen to me speak.”

  
  


A shiver goes down my spine. “Well, you’re not totally boring.” My heart is thudding in my chest, and my face feels hot. I blast the A.C., perplexed by how worked up I’ve managed to get in such a small span of time.

  
  


Paris clears her throat. “Enough with the small talk, Gilmore. Did you know Margaret Akers has a dead child?!”

  
  


“Did you know popping pills would make you more tolerable?”

  
  


* * *

Jess arrives at the town square, our designated meeting spot, breathless and red. It’s not like him to rush places, but this weather is making us all act out of character. By this point, I’m in the undershirt of my Chilton uniform, with the sleeves rolled all the way up. My hair is wilted and I feel generally gross, but he looks worse.

  
  


“You’re late,” Paris tells him.

  
  


“Working in a diner will do that for you,” he replies.

  
  


I rub my forehead. “Paris, what time did you arrange the interview?”

  
  


“3:30.”

  
  


I groan. “That’s in like half an hour, what did we have to meet so early for?” Jess’s eyes spell murder.

  
  


“You two are so pathetic,” she says. “Obviously we have to talk to some denizens around her, to see whether they’re just ill-informed sheep or secretly  _ uncannily  _ aware of the politics around here.”

  
  


_ “I think _ you’ve watched  _ All the King’s Men  _ one too many times.” Jess plops down onto the steps of the gazebo, reclining lazily against a pillar. I regret asking him to do this already.

  
  


“Here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to get some  _ ice cream _ or pie, in a nice little air-conditioned shop around here. Obviously, that’s where the people are going to be in this ridiculous weather, and we’ll talk to  _ them  _ about Margaret Akers.” My voice comes out crabby, but Paris and Jess just look at each other and shrug.

  
  


Half an hour later, Paris, Jess, and I are making our way to Akers’s house, with substantial details in Paris’s tape recorder. The Stars Hollow citizens know more about the woman than we thought. Margaret Akers is the first black female to have ever run for mayor here. She believes that Taylor Doose wields his influence in ways that overstep his bounds. She’s advocated for legalizing gay marriage in Connecticut, which is looking to become a real possibility soon. All this knowledge coupled with full stomachs makes for good conversation between the three of us.

  
  


“We should ask her if she reads the Beats.” Jess peaks over Paris shoulder as she skims through her notepad.

  
  


“No, we’re going to ask her serious questions about Taylor and politics,” I remind him half-heartedly.

  
  


Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, Jess does a magic trick and pulls a nickel out of my ear, which I’ve specifically asked him not to do hundreds of times before. “Gotta make sure she doesn’t get bored to death first.”

  
  


“If you’re going to ask her about books, at least talk about respectable authors like Harper Lee or something.” Paris is still jotting down notes like there’s no tomorrow. That girl never rests. “All the Beats did was promote bisexuality, throw parties, and get questioned in police custody.”

  
  


_ “Exactly  _ why we should ask her about them. Every important author from the 20th century was on an FBI watchlist.”

  
  


Paris and Jess continue bickering as my mind churns. Akers’s positions are so risky; pro gay marriage, against the idea of a war with Iraq, and she’s met with democratic-socialists like Bernie Sanders. Despite all this, people in Stars Hollow seem to tolerate and even support her…

  
  


“Excuse me kids!”

  
  


All of us immediately freeze at recognition of the voice, and turn around in horror to see Taylor Doose speed walking towards us. We’re literally gathering information about his competitor and the problems with his leadership. If Taylor finds this out, mom and I will probably be banned from every establishment in town.

  
  


Eh, what’s the worst he can do anyway?

  
  


He clasps his hands in front of him. “I heard a rumor that you kids were doing some due diligence for an...article that you’re writing? I must say, I was surprised to hear that you were in on it as well, Jess. I’m sure it’s a good thing to keep you out of trouble, anyhow.”

  
  


Jess opens his mouth to retort, but I place my palm on the back of his hand and speak. “Oh, I hope we didn’t bother anyone, Taylor! You’d let us know if we were, right?” Paris checks her watch and glares at me.

  
  


“Er, it’s just that I hope you paint our town in the best light. Young folk don’t always do justice to the intricacies and complexities of running a town and highlighting its values.” Clearly, Taylor is trying to insinuate something, the specifics of which are hazy.

  
  


“I promise we aren’t doing anything to harm the reputation of anyone,” I lie. “It’s just some silly newspaper competition - no one’s gonna see what we’re writing except the judges.”

  
  


I’ve omitted the part about meeting with the president if we win, and Taylor is placated. “Alright then, go on with your business. You should show me that piece of yours sometime. I’ll put it up in the Stars Hollow Gazette.”

  
  


He casts us one last knowing glance and leaves. Paris nudges my shoulder.

  
  


“Don’t worry, I’ll write you a fake story to feed him. Some bullshit about how his leadership is the perfect example of patriotism and order.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Margaret Akers’s house is cluttered but clean, and entirely unimposing or interesting. She has a PHD in computer science hung up on the wall near the door, and both the inside and outside of her home are a deep green. There’s a picture of a little darkskin black boy with frizzy hair on the small table across from her diploma. This must be the dead son Paris told me about, though I don’t know the cause of his death or when he died. 

  
  


Akers beckons us to the living room, while finishing up a phone call with some food delivery guy who is catering for an event. Jess and I share a loveseat as Paris takes one of the armchairs, spilling her tape recorder and notepad materials onto her lap.

  
  


“Sorry I’m such a mess,” Akers says once she ends her call, chuckling. “I couldn’t keep organized to save my life.”

  
  


“It really is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Akers,” Paris tells her, while Jess blurts out “Me neither.”

  
  


There’s silence for a moment so Paris can turn on her tape recorder, and then I start. “Um, why did you feel the need to go up against Mr. Doose in this year’s race? Seeing that you have no prior political experience, and that he’s run this place for as long as some of us can remember, what are you bringing to the table?” The words tumble out awkwardly, but Akers gives me a nod of approval. 

  
  


“Well, Mr. Doose’s power ever since Harry Porter stepped down fully has been all but unchecked. I’m worried about how he uses town funds and abuses property regulations to further his own needs.”

  
  


“Can you give examples of this?” Paris asks.

  
  


“It’s all around.” She makes a sweeping motion with her hands. “Especially with small businesses. Mr. Doose blackmailed the poor old former owner of a makeup store downtown into selling his shop to a managerial firm from Woodbury, rather than transferring it to local ownership. Coincidentally, he was able to expand construction of his apartment chain over town lines into Woodbury after that, which their Mayor Hank was dead-set against before. Sound familiar to you?”

  
  


“Large corporations do that all the time on a bigger scale.” Jess raises his eyebrows at me. He’s a bit  _ workers-of-the-world-unite _ with his opinions, however, he’s right on this account. Mom’s worried at how men in suits are already sniffing around the Independence Inn.

  
  


“Precisely,” Akers responds to Jess, and he grins. It’s not usual for him to accept praise.

  
  


Paris’s lips are pursed. “Seems a bit of a radical take, for a country built on capitalism. You were involved in a bunch of the hippie movements in the 70’s and 80’s, including some of the socialist party platforms. Taylor, on the other hand, is a more law-and-order candidate. What would you say to detractors who paint you as quintessentially un-American?”

  
  


She takes a breath at this. “I don’t believe allowing corporations and the government to bully working-class citizens is  _ pro _ -American either.” Her words are calm, but Paris flusters.

  
  


“Most people aren’t feeling very  _ progressive  _ right now...I was just trying to come up with questions to mirror the current political climate.”

  
  


“As you should.” Akers genuinely doesn’t seem offended to me.

  
  


“You’re aware that Stars Hollow is very white, right?” Jess’s statement is very point-blank, causing Paris’s eyes to widen and Akers to burst into laughter.

  
  


“Yes, I think I’d know.”

  
  


“Do you think that your economic platform is enough to make up for your social platform? Gay marriage and liberal stances - not a lot of people are exactly willing to throw you a party on that account.” He pauses, looking like he’s trying to search for the right words to say. “But that Bernie guy won in Vermont, which is pretty conservative. A lot of people there voted for Bush, too. It’s probably because he’s anti-establishment.”

  
  


I give Paris a triumphant look. Jess is much smarter than people give him credit for. I’ve always known it. Akers looks impressed at his analysis, too. “There’s a lot of fear mongering going around these days, especially towards brown and muslim folk in the country. However, yes, I do truly believe my economic proposals can make up for any lack of love people have for my social beliefs. If I don’t win the race, I will more than willingly work with Taylor to solve some of these racial tensions. He has our town’s best interests at heart.”

  
  


We ask Akers a few more questions and then wrap up the interview, thanking her for her time. Paris doesn’t mention her son once, I notice. I guess we can just question her on that another time, or find out what happened to him on our own. Either way, Paris is gleeful at the results of our talk with Akers.

  
  


“Wow, she is a fascinating woman. Sure, she’s a regular old commie with hippie-dippy positions, but she’s the first politician I’ve met who can actually hold a conversation. And she’s not even a real one! My parents really need to up their game with who they befriend in Congress....”

  
  


Jess gives me a wry smile, not saying anything. I want to know what’s going on in that skull of his, but pushing him is never of any use. We walk back to my house, where Paris has left her car, and wave her goodbye as she pulls away.

  
  


“So, I should probably be going home now. Homework,” I tell him.

  
  


“Figures.” Jess puts his hands in his pockets. “Or…”

  
  


“Or what?”

  
  


“You could go on a walk with me.” He smiles dangerously, and I relent.

  
  


“Fine, but not for too long.”

  
  


* * *

Jess and I end up getting a little carried away with ourselves.

  
  


Time flies, and before I know it it’s nearly dark. Mom expected I’d be out a while though, so I should be good on that part. Dean, on the other hand, has left me a couple pages. Jess and I roam around the bookstore, dramatically reading aloud some old classics. I convince him to read the  _ Watchmen  _ comics, which he refused to read when he was younger because he thought ‘books with pictures’ were beneath him. He buys me a copy of the first  _ Harry Potter  _ book as well, because apparently I read too much ‘old stuff from dead writers’.

  
  


It’s about 6:00, so I’ll be eating dinner in half an hour. Jess persuades me to take a quick pit-stop before that, and before I know it the  _ Stars Hollow Gazette  _ office quarters stand in front of me.

  
  


I giggle the doorknob. “Locked, obviously. The paper is a 9-5 job. Anywhere else you want to go?”

  
  


He doesn’t answer, instead flourishing a bent paperclip in front of my face. 

  
  


_ “No, Jess,  _ c’mon.”

  
  


“Don’t you want to be a journalist one day? How the hell do you expect to do that if you don’t take risks?” His voice is teasing, and it causes something in my brain to spike.

  
  


“Let’s do this then.” I watch as he coaxes the paperclip through the doorknob, and after only a minute, the lock opens. I keep an eye out for observers, but most everyone’s at home already. Stars Hollow citizens don’t do hot weather.

  
  


We tiptoe into the building and lock the door behind us. The shutters are drawn, and Jess immediately heads towards the seat in front of the computer. “You can find any article since the Gazette’s inception on here. High school grad announcements, obituaries; there’s even a search bar to catalogue by name.”

  
  


“How do you know all this stuff?” I lean my elbow on Jess’s left shoulder and peer over him.

  
  


“I’m a man of many mysteries.”

  
  


He pores through the recent articles with Taylor in them, and there’s not much about him or Akers. He hasn’t even acknowledged her run yet. The newspapers haven’t written about her as much as I’d thought either, even though she’s the first political outsider to go up against an incumbent mayor here in years. What they have written doesn’t do justice to any of her positions at all.

  
  


Just as we’re nearing the end of the Taylor searches, something catches Jess’s eye. “Rory, look.” He pats me frantically.

  
  


𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝘼𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙨 - 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝘼𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙁𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙣 𝘼𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙨 - 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙢𝙣 𝘿𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 - 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝘿𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝘾𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙝 𝘿𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 - 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙗𝙤𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙.

  
  


My mouth hangs open as I gape at Jess in shock. “No  _ way.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50-60% of Americans supported an invasion of Iraq before 2003, according to national Gallup Polls. This number dropped drastically after the war began, for obvious reasons.
> 
> Same-sex marriage was legalized in Connecticut in 2008.


	4. A Lesson in Teenage Melodrama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension ensues between Jess and Dean as Rory's night home alone becomes more crowded than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, chapter four is finally here. As per custom, the real reason it took so long to put out is because I am lazy, but I always have a good excuse up my sleeve. My lovely beta reader, [Ex_Nihilo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ex_Nihilo/pseuds/Ex_Nihilo), exposed me to a webtoon that I binge read way too quickly (so basically, I had a severe case of writer's block with this chapter). But the good news is that I have gotten around to doing some extensive plotting, so you guys should seriously expect fic update every two weeks from this point forward.
> 
> Despite my struggle with this chapter, I really hope ya'll enjoy it! It's less focused on the Akers mystery than the last update was, but I promise I'm still setting up some integral points that you will learn more about further on :)

The sound of chattering students and the frantic clicking of keyboards fills the air, mixing with the strong smell of coffee and the energy of frayed nerves. The blur of blue uniforms dash past me as I try to focus on the task at hand.

  
  


“She’s asking if she should date the short king, right, so on one hand I’m like  _ yes  _ cause feminism, but on the  _ other  _ hand I don’t want her to have to deal with a guy whose ego needs constant stroking. Rory, what do you think?” Louise raps a pen against my palm.

  
  


We’re in the Chilton newsroom for an afternoon meeting, working to drum out the next edition of  _ The Franklin.  _ I convinced Paris to let Louise and Madeline, her somewhat ditzy friends, to head an advice column. They had originally pleaded for a gossip column, but she would never allow something so frivolous, so I managed to mediate a compromise. The response has been extensive, from questions about dating and fashion to college decisions and extracurriculars.

  
  


“That’s more your wheelhouse,” I reply sweetly. “I thought I’d be answering the serious stuff, like grades and what-not.”

  
  


Madeline is separating the entries and poring through them. “Most people aren’t nerds, and Paris assigned you to help us, so you might as well give your opinion on these things.”

  
  


Speaking of the devil, she comes up from behind Louise to save me from this conversation. “No need. Ladies, I need to borrow Rory. The days until the next meeting are sufficient time for you two to complete the question-answers by yourselves.” She jerks her head towards a table in the back of the room, and I follow.

  
  


“You’re a hero,” I tell Paris.

  
  


“I could see you were in trouble,” she chuckles. We sit ourselves down in the corner, which has a weird feel to it.  It’s dimmer lit than the rest of the newsroom, and secluded from all the buzz. “You were being cryptic on the phone the other night.”

  
  


I blanch at her. “What are you talking about?”

  
  


“Don’t pull my leg, Gilmore. You were spouting on about you and Jess breaking into the headquarters for something and finding-”

  
  


_ “Right!  _ Ok, ok, get this: You know how we’re writing about Stars Hollow leadership and how Akers is running against Taylor? There might be more to that than we originally thought.” I talk about the obituary for fiancees Ophelia Akers and Callumn Doose, siblings to Margaret and Taylor.

  
  


Paris looks caught off-guard, a rare occasion that I should probably be more celebratory of.  _ “Sketchy.” _

  
  


“No  _ shit,  _ Sherlock. I have no idea what you’ve gotten me into.”

  
  


“This better not scare you off.” Paris stares me down, like a challenge, but there’s a glint in her eyes. 

  
  


The thought of it makes me smile. “If Taylor ends up being a psycho, it’ll still look good on my college applications.”

  
  


“True. You have any plans for today?”

  
  


“I’m just about to meet up with my mom at her Inn, and then she’s going to a spa resort with grandma. I’m probably just going to order some Indian food and watch a movie. You?”

  
  


“The regular. My Portoguese nanny will make me some dinner while I go through another volume of Proust, and we’ll play Monopoly while eating dessert. I crush her every time.”

  
  


“Sure,” I say. I’m about to wave her goodbye and leave, when an idea strikes me. “Wait, Paris. Do you want to come over?”

  
  


She hesitates, and I cringe preemptively, preparing for humiliation. “You’re joking.”

  
  


I shake my head. “No. I mean, you totally don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought… it might be fun.” I must be going insane, asking Paris Geller to hang out with me.

  
  


Paris mulls it over for a minute, then nods. “We can study for the chem test.”

  
  


I groan. 

  
  


“Oh, come on! It’s not like I plan on gossiping about boys with you, Bambi.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Little Lorelai, what are you doing?”

  
  


I startle from my schoolwork to see Michel, the Independence Inn’s French concierge, standing in front of me with a crossed look. “Just some stuff for Chilton.” 

  
  


“Yes, I’m sure you’re doing your homework so you can get a good grade and go to a good college and fulfill all your cursed mother’s dreams, but you are doing it at the  _ guest’s  _ table.” He gestures broadly at the row of tables and chairs lined near the front of the inn’s windows.

  
  


I close my eyes momentarily, steeling myself for the faceoff that’s about to go down.  _ “Michel.  _ Do you mean to express disapproval at my using  _ one  _ tiny table out of the  _ many  _ empty tables currently available in order to study?” My tone is sarcastic, but I make sure to plaster a phony smile on my face.

  
  


He mimics my mannerisms. “Are you aware what the word  _ nepotism  _ means?”

  
  


“Is it when daughters take advantage of their mothers’ jobs to  _ steal  _ all the table seats in a hotel?” My mother has crept up behind us, resting her forearm on the crook of Michel’s shoulders. “Rory, I can’t believe you’d disrespect our fine establishment like this.”

  
  


“I am but a Gilmore, after all.”

  
  


“You frivolous girls mock me, but mark my words; one day, the world will stop catering to your every little whim, and I will  _ laugh and laugh and laugh _ as you struggle amidst its cruel and uncaring void.” Michel frees himself from mom’s grasp and promptly leaves, ignoring her wave goodbye.

  
  


I stuff my materials into my book bag and sling it over my shoulder, standing up to stretch after about an hour of sitting around. “He’s particularly moody.”

  
  


“Well, he’s always moody _ ,  _ but he’s rarely wrong, my daughter dearest.” Mom waits for Sookie, her friend and the Eastern seaboard’s finest chef, to catch up with us before heading out. “Sookie, did you hear the world is a cruel and uncaring void?”

  
  


“I read it in the paper every morning,” she giggles.

  
  


The inn is only about a mile away from our houses, so we walk home together. We only drive in winter and for time-important occasions, anyhow. Sookie is going on about how she experimented with fusion dishes today for lunch, and mom is complaining about renovations, most of which I effectively tune out.

  
  


“Hafta cater to those fancy customers, but I wish I could tinker more with….”

  
  


“That bastard in the White House had to go and tax the steel imports,  _ how  _ am I supposed to find a decent outdoor patio? Like really, what good are the Democrats if they can’t even put out a hit-job on him?”

  
  


Ever since the interview with Akers, I’ve been paying more attention to the politics around me. I always did, considering Gov class forces me to churn out a paper almost weekly, but I’m hyper-aware of events these days. The world is going to hell in a million different directions.

  
  


We part with Sookie at the intersection into town, and mom switches her focus to me. There are creases next to her eyes, and her face is paler than usual. She must’ve had one too many events to plan. “Great, first this shitty week and now a resort with  _ Emily Gilmore.  _ At this rate, I’m going to get an ulcer.”

  
  


_ “Promise _ me you’ll be nice to Grandma. She’s trying to spend time with you.”

  
  


“Don’t worry, I’ll be charming as ever. Anyhow, enough about my life. Are  _ you _ going to throw a  _ raging  _ kegger while I’m outta town?” She winks at me.

  
  


I’m never able to fully understand whether mom is being sarcastic when she says things like this, or if she’s actually upset that she raised a homebody. “No, no  _ kegger.  _ I invited Paris over, which inevitably means studying and, if I’m lucky, a movie.” I don’t understand what compelled me to spend what would originally be a night of relaxation with a force of nature like Paris, but alas.

  
  


_ “Paris?  _ I thought you two had a love-hate relationship.”

  
  


Mom has heard me complain about her incessantly. “We do, but researching Stars Hollow politics has surprisingly improved our friendship.”

  
  


“And  _ that  _ must be the first time politics has actually  _ brought _ two people together.”

* * *

It’s around six o’ clock, and Paris is still scribbling notes on chemistry, freaking out as is her custom. She got an A- on the pop quiz from a day ago, which basically likens her to a college dropout. I’ve given up on trying to help her, instead combing through Google searches of the Doose-Akers boating accident.

  
  


She smacks her pencil on the table. “How am I going to be a doctor if I can’t even manage to wrap my brain around the stupid Krebs Cycle?”

  
  


“You won’t. You’ll simply have to find a profession straight from the gutter, like science, or the law.” Paris takes a swipe at me that I dodge, laughing. She gets flustered so easily.

  
  


“If you’re not going to help me, I should just leave!”

  
  


“No, no, don’t leave.” I retrieve her pencil, stopping it before it falls over the other side of the table. “Hey, get a load of what I’m reading right now. Taylor’s parents didn’t approve of his brother and Ophelia getting married.”

  
  


She looks up at me briefly. “Obviously. An interracial marriage in what, the 70’s?” Paris seems like she’s about to add more, but the doorbell rings.

  
  


“That’s probably the Indian food,” I say. But I open the door to see Jess, standing there with a big box in hand.

  
  


“Surprise, surprise.”

  
  


_ It sure is.  _ Something about seeing him standing there stresses me out. Maybe I’m still recovering from the break-in to  _ Stars Hollow Gazette  _ headquarters, or maybe I still haven’t fully gotten over the Bid-a-Basket situation with Dean. Or maybe, as much as I hate to admit it, I just want to spend some time with Paris. “What are you doing here?”

  
  


“Your mom told Luke she was leaving you alone for the night. He wanted to make sure you had something to eat.” His voice is dead serious, but it doesn’t feel like Luke to do me favors without at least calling first.

  
  


“How considerate of him.”

  
  


“It’s that small town charm, isn’t it?” Jess is staring at me in a way that makes me suspect this is all one big prank.

  
  


I hear the scrape of a chair in the background. “Rory, you good?” Paris asks, creeping up behind me. 

  
  


“Jess is  _ dropping off _ some food for us.” I turn on my heel and lead him to the kitchen table, shoving off the binders and looseleaf papers.

  
  


“You don’t seem too thrilled to see me,” he remarks, unpacking the contents of the box. Fries, burgers, and cherry sodas - all the classics.

  
  


“No way. Rory loves you.” Paris grins at me teasingly, and I’m not liking the insinuations going on here.

  
  


Jess is looking at me too, now. “Does she?”

  
  


I’m caught in between a rock and hard place. Paris is friends with Jess, and all the rules of courtesy would dictate that I invite him to eat with us. But, I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.

  
  


“Guess I’ll be going,” he tells Paris, and she looks confused. He slowly swings around the archway, lingering there, before I finally roll my eyes and grab his sleeve.

  
  


“No, you should stay. We have Indian food coming as well; we need as many people to eat as we can get.”

  
  


“Fine, if you  _ insist,”  _ Jess answers dramatically, sliding into a seat. I want to be mad, but I can’t help but smile at him. He’s just that good at playing with people.

  
  


“I do.”

  
  


Despite this night not going at all as I originally planned, I find myself enjoying it. For all of Paris and Jess’s faults, lack of intelligence is not one. I guess I should’ve expected them both to become friends when I asked Jess to help us out with our project for school. I just hope Paris doesn’t do anything stupid, like fall in love with him.

  
  


“Your taste in literature is ridiculous, Jess, really. It just reeks of typical male behavior.” Paris is shaking her finger at him, and I nearly fall off my chair.

  
  


“Typical  _ male  _ behavior? I read everything under the sun, you’re just elitist!”

  
  


“Tell me, tell me Jess, when you watched  _ Fight Club, _ did you relate to Tyler Durden?”

  
  


He scoffs. “A, that’s  _ literally  _ a movie, and B, no I’m not stupid. I know that he’s the real villain of the story that toxic egos project onto, yada yada yada.”

  
  


“Fight club was originally a book,” I remind him. “But I agree with Paris, your book taste is very masculine.”

  
  


“Not true, I like Jane Austen,” Jess retorts.

  
  


He’s so serious that I have to mock him. “Maybe, but you didn’t read  _ The Baby-Sitters Club  _ when I begged you to. Who's the elitist now?” I haven’t read that series in awhile, but I remember trying to force Jess to check one of them out when we went to the bookstore together.

  
  


“Eh, I can’t blame him for that. Your literary preferences are such a drag sometimes.” Paris is imitating Jess’s salt-and-pepper dip style of eating a french fries. Neither of them have touched the Indian food, and I’m tempted to call them out on it.

  
  


“By a drag, you mean my reading style is normal and not straight from an English teacher’s curriculum.”

  
  


Paris peers over my shoulder to look at the clunky computer on a stand next to us. I abandoned using it as soon as Jess came in. “Ugh, I meant to talk to you about that more.”

  
  


“About what?” Jess asks.

  
  


“The whole Akers thing.” Her face contorts into a look of concentration, signaling that Paris’s brain is about to go into power mode. “I think this is all one big conspiracy,” she says in a low voice. 

  
  


_ Briiing! _

  
  


The phone sings out, and I jump, scratching my elbows against the table’s edges. Jess blinks, then proceeds to immediately ridicule me.

  
  


“Watch out. It might be the boogeyman.”

  
  


Paris hits his shoulder as I head into the living room to receive the call. “Hello?”

  
  


“Hey, Rory, you home?” Dean’s cheerful voice booms from the speaker. “Wait, that’s stupid, I called your house phone. Anyway, I’m nearing your place.”

  
  


Internally, I begin to panic. “Hold on,  _ what,  _ no!” It comes out strangled.

  
  


_ “No?” _

  
  


“Dean, not today. I have homework, and I want to be alone tonight. Please, I promise we can hang out tomorrow.” I haven’t hung out with him in the past few days, but we’ve already made plans to go out. Plus, he’ll flip if he sees Jess; he doesn’t trust me to be with him.

  
  


“It’ll only be for a quick minute,” he promises. “I bought us some pie, and I’ll be in and out of there in a flash.”

  
  


“What part of  _ no _ do you not-”

  
  


“See you.”

  
  


Dean hangs up, and after standing in a daze for a moment, I leap into action. Stumbling back into the kitchen, I pull Jess’s coat off the hanger and fling it at him. “You have to go.”

  
  


He lazily straightens up. “Aw, really? I thought we were having just a  _ darling  _ time together.”

  
  


“We were, I- Paris, I’ll explain to you later. I’m very sorry, but you have to go.  _ Dean’s  _ coming over.”

  
  


“Don’t worry. I’m not particularly keen on the Jolly Green Giant myself.” Paris looks disappointed as he slings his shoulders into his jacket, and she acknowledges Jess with a casual salute.

  
  


“Say thanks to your uncle for me.”

  
  


“Will do,” he drawls, before I shove him towards the front. “This is abuse. I’m being force-”

  
  


The front door opens, and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach. There Dean is, his face shifting from surprised to recognizing to livid. All in the span of a few seconds.

  
  


_ “Fantastic,” _ Jess mutters underneath his breath. “Just what I needed.”

  
  


When Dean finally speaks, his voice is low, and dangerous. “What the  _ hell  _ is this guy doing here?”

  
  


I’m stunned enough that I don’t even know what to say at this point. My brain barrels through a hundred different excuses, but none of them are better than the truth, and the truth isn’t believable to him.

  
  


“Oh,  _ spare me,  _ you’re getting a little pathetic. Believe it or not, your girlfriend having friends doesn’t mean she’s cheating on you or whatever bullshit you’re worried about.”

  
  


“Don’t  _ start  _ with me, Jess,” Dean hisses, at the same time I say, “Jess,  _ stop.” _

  
  


“What a load of crap.” He kicks the side of the porch and gives me a scorching glare.

  
  


I try to convey desperation through my eyes, and something makes him soften. Maybe Jess understands that I’m legitimately stressed out. 

  
  


“Fine, I’m out. Call me later.”

  
  


In other contexts, those last words would sound innocent enough, but in this one it’s enough to send Dean off. “She  _ better  _ not.” Jess makes a crude gesture with his finger, but he doesn’t turn back. They’ve narrowly avoided a physical altercation.

  
  


Currently, Dean is about to focus all his anger on me, with Jess being out of the picture. I’m reminded of the conversation we had at the Bid-a-Basket festival, where I questioned his need to bully my boyfriend.

  
  


_ “Why’d you do it?” _

  
  


_ “I dunno. He was standing there, all tall and angry.” _

  
  


The two most accurate words to describe him.

  
  


I stalk off into the living room, him right on my tail. “And to think, I believed you when you said you wanted a night to yourself.”

  
  


“It was  _ not  _ like that!” I lean against the rail near my stairs, regretting it instantly as Dean backs me into a corner.

  
  


“What was it like then, huh? When my girlfriend tells me she wants some ‘alone time’, forgive me for not expecting it to be with another  _ guy!”  _ He shouts the last word, and it scares me. “Come on Rory, don’t be naive! He wants to get into your-”

  
  


“Do  _ not  _ finish that sentence!”

  
  


He eyes me scornfully. “What will you do if I will?” Dean takes another step towards me, folding his arms across his chest. The bag of pie he brought with him falls to the floor.

  
  


“It’s my fault!”

  
  


I whip my head around to see Paris standing near the monkey lamp next to our tattered couch, her face illuminated in an orange glow. She’s so small, but her posture is fierce.

  
  


“I begged Rory to invite Jess and I over because...I have a thing for him. He’s the only guy my age who has a decent taste in books. She agreed to help me out even though what she really wanted to do was hang out with you. It’s embarrassing, I know.”

  
  


Dean is positively shocked, and the statement takes some time to register. “Er, Rory, is this true?”

  
  


I don’t want to lie to him, but Paris clearly expects me to say yes. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to have to find out.” I shoot an awkward finger gun, and the tension slowly seems to be dissipating from his shoulders.

  
  


“I’m sorry for coming between you two like this. I’ll leave - thanks for helping me out like this, again.” She reaches for her backpack.

  
  


I nod, bobbing my head helplessly at her. “No problem.”

  
  


“No, Paris, don’t. I’ll go instead; I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I was told as much.” Dean, ever the gentleman, assures her she should remain put, then kisses me on the forehead. “Sorry about all this.”

  
  


“You couldn’t have known.” I give him a hug, and let him depart from our house after unloading a container of pie on my dining table. Mom is going to have a field day with all the leftovers. We’re probably going to be set for an entire week.

  
  


Paris plops down onto the sofa, seemingly unsure of what to say. My body suddenly feels heavy, and I do the same besides her. Instead of thanking her ass off, like I should be doing, my stupid brain manages to blurt out:

  
  


“Were you being serious about Jess?”

  
  


She looks at me like I’m the stupidest person on Earth. “No. Bad boys aren’t my type.”

  
  


I stare at the ceiling for a bit, exhausted, before pulling Paris into a hug. It’s quiet, and I rest my head over my wrapped arms.

  
  


“I owe you.”

  
  


“It’s the least I could do for stealing your food.” We break from the embrace, and Paris starts. “I probably should leave, for real now.”

  
  


“Probably. But if you do, I’ll have no one to eat pie with tomorrow morning.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively, or at least attempt to.

  
  


“If you want me to stay the night, I have to make a call.”

  
  


“Do it. We’ll watch whatever’s on TV, and I’ll take the couch while you take my bed.”

  
  


“If you  _ insist.” _

  
  


“I do.”

  
  


When mom calls later to ask what I’m doing, I tell her nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone catch the parallels between Paris and Jess I put in there? Probably not, my brain just works weird.
> 
> Shout out to [Bi Survivors Network](http://bisurvivorsnetwork.org/). I recently learned that bisexual people have the highest domestic abuse and rape rates out of every sexual orientation, and seeing that I have LGBT themes in this fanfic, I feel obligated to make readers aware of this issue. No, don't fret - there's no abuse between Rory and Dean in this story. Things just got a lil heated. But I encourage people to look more into the issue anyhow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction! I would really appreciate any constructive criticism or compliments if you have any to give :) Also, if you have any questions as to my opinion on the canon series and its characters/relationships/plotlines, ask away. I love talking about Gilmore Girls.


End file.
